She did several more drawings of me which were quite good, but there was something in them I didn’t like, she didn’t bother so much about a nice likeness as what she called my inner character, so sometimes she made my nose so pointed it would have pricked you and my mouth was all thin and unpleasant, I mean more than it really is, because I know I’m no beauty. I didn’t dare think about the four weeks being up, I didn’t know what would happen, I just thought there would be arguing and she’d sulk and I’d get her to stay another four weeks—I mean I thought I had some sort of power over her, she would do what I wanted. I lived from day to day, really. I mean there was no plan. I just waited. I even half expected the police to come. I had a horrible dream one night when they came and I had to kill her before they came in the room. It seemed like a duty and I had only a cushion to kill her with. I hit and hit and she laughed and then I jumped on her and smothered her and she lay still, and then when I took the cushion away she was lying there laughing, she’d only pretended to die. I woke up in a sweat, that was the first time I ever dreamed of killing anyone.
She started talking about going several days before the end. She kept on saying that she would never tell a soul, and of course I had to say I believed her, but I knew even if she meant it the police or her parents would screw it out of her in the end. And she kept on about how we’d be friends and she’d help me choose pictures and introduce me to people and look after me. She was very nice to me those days; not that of course she didn’t have her reasons.
At last the fatal day (November 10th, the 11th was her release day) came. The first thing she said when I took her in her coffee was, could we have a celebration party tonight?
What about guests, I said, joking, not that I was feeling lighthearted, need I add.
“Just you and me. Because… oh, well, we’ve come through, haven’t we?”
Then she said, “And upstairs, in your dining-room?”
To which I agreed. I had no choice.
She gave me a list of things to buy at the posh grocer’s in Lewes, and then she asked if I’d buy sherry and a bottle of champagne and of course I said I would. I never saw her get so excited. I suppose I got excited too. Even then. What she felt, I felt.
To make her laugh I said, evening dress, of course. And she said, “Oh, I wish I had a nice dress. And I must have some more hot water to wash my hair.”
I said, I’ll buy you a dress. Just tell me like before the colour and so on and I’ll see what there is in Lewes.
Funny, I’d been so careful, and there I was, going red. She gave me a smile, however,
“I knew it was Lewes. There’s a ticket on one of the cushions. And I’d like either a black dress, or no, a biscuit, stone—oh, wait…” and she went to her paint-box and mixed colours like she did before when she wanted a scarf of a special colour when I was going to London. “This colour, and it must be simple, knee-length, not long, sleeves like this (she drew it), or no sleeves, something like this or like this.” I always liked it when she drew. She was so quick, fluttery, you felt she couldn’t wait to draw whatever it was.
Naturally my thoughts were far from happy that day. It was just like me not to have a plan. I don’t know what I thought would happen. I don’t even know if I didn’t think I would keep the agreement, even though it was forced out of me and forced promises are no promises, as they say.
I actually went into Brighton and there after looking at a lot I saw just the dress in a small shop; you could tell it was real class, at first they didn’t want to sell it without a fitting although it was the right size. Well, going back to where I parked the van I passed another shop, a jeweller’s, and I suddenly had the idea that she would like a present, also it might make things easier when it came to the point. There was a sapphire and diamond necklace lying on a bit of black velvet, shape of a heart I remember—I mean they’d arranged the necklace into a heart shape. I went in and it was three hundred pounds and I nearly walked right out again, but then my more generous nature triumphed. After all, I had the money. The woman in the shop put it on and it looked really pretty and expensive. It’s only small stones, she said, but all very fine water and these Victorian designs. I remembered Miranda talking one day about how she liked Victorian things, so that did it. There was trouble about the cheque, of course. The woman wouldn’t take it at first, but I got her to ring my bank and she changed her tune very quick. If I’d spoken in a la-di-da voice and said I was Lord Muck or something, I bet… still, I’ve got no time for that.
It’s funny how one idea leads to another. While I was buying the necklace I saw some rings and that gave me the plan I could ask her to marry me and if she said no then it would mean I had to keep her. It would be a way out. I knew she wouldn’t say yes. So I bought a ring. It was quite nice; but not very expensive. Just for show.
When I got home I washed the necklace (I didn’t like to think of it touching that other woman’s skin) and hid it so that I could get it out at the correct time. Then I made all the preparations she said: there were flowers, and I put the bottles on the side-table, and laid out everything really grand hotel, with all the usual precautions, of course. We arranged I was to go down and fetch her at seven. After I took in the parcels I wasn’t to see her, it was like it is before a wedding.
What I decided was I would let her come up ungagged and untied just this once, I would take the risk but watch her like a knife and I would have the chloroform and CTC handy, just in case trouble blew up. Say someone knocked at the door, I could use the pad and have her bound and gagged in the kitchen in a very short time, and then open up.
Well, at seven I had my best suit and shirt and a new tie I bought on and I went down to see her. It was raining, which was all to the good. She made me wait about ten minutes and then she came out. You could have knocked me down with a feather. For a moment I thought it wasn’t her, it looked so different. She had a lot of French scent which I gave her on and she was really made up for the first time since she was with me; she had the dress on and it really suited her, it was a creamy colour, very simple but elegant, leaving her arms and her neck bare. It wasn’t a girl’s dress at all, she looked a real woman. Her hair was done up high unlike before, very elegant. Empire, she called it. She looked just like one of those model girls you see in magazines; it really amazed me what she could look like when she wanted. I remember her eyes were different too, she’d drawn black lines round them so she looked sophisticated. Sophisticated, that’s exactly the word. Of course, she made me feel all clumsy and awkward. I had the same feeling I did when I had watched an imago emerge, and then to have to kill it… I mean, the beauty confuses you, you don’t know what you want to do any more, what you should do.
“Well?” she said. She turned round, showing off.
Very nice, I said.
“Is that all?” She gave me a look under her eyebrows. She looked a real sensation.
Beautiful, I said. I didn’t know what to say, I wanted to look at her all the time and I couldn’t. I felt sort of frightened, too.